


It's A Wonderful Disaster

by TheArtfulDodger



Series: Shipmas 2019 [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Albus is coping well, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas decorations vomit, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gift Exchange, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, M/M, Nerd Scorpius, Protective Albus, Scorpius is anxiety-ridden, Shipmas, Shipmas 2019, attempts at humour were made, but they have each other, but they're still struggling, disaster bois, not that it matters, where everything goes from bad to worse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22038133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtfulDodger/pseuds/TheArtfulDodger
Summary: Albus and Scorpius are spending their first Christmas holiday together in their quiet London flat, trying to do everything 'the Muggle way'. As expected, all hell breaks loose.
Relationships: Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter
Series: Shipmas 2019 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586284
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	It's A Wonderful Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> Written for littlerose13's 12 Days of Shipmas 2019 prompts. This prompt was for 4th December: 'Are you sure this is how the Muggles decorate their Christmas trees without magic?"
> 
> I am incredibly late to the party, and I apologise for that. More Shipmas prompts to come if you haven't had enough Christmas tinsel shoved down your throat this year. This is the first time I'm writing non-Bellamort fluff, btw, so idk what's going on. Hope you like it.

The first Christmas holiday a couple celebrates together leaves lasting memories of toffee and cinnamon and cold feet cuddling under the blankets. Albus supposed things would work out in the end, but in the meantime he had a lot of broken egg shells to collect and a boyfriend to calm down. 

It was their second year after graduation and their first of living together. The small flat in the East End had little in common with the Potters’ cottage or the Malfoys’ mansion: it was cramped, noisy and distinctly unmagical - barring, of course, Scorpius’ potions’ experiments brewing over the Gubraithian Fire day and night. The boys loved it to bits. 

For the holidays, they had decided that they wanted to do this “all by themselves”: pick the tree, bring it home, buy and create ornaments, bake and cook all the food. Scorpius had dived head-first into the preparations on the first day of November with an enthusiastic gleam in his eye that Albus had learned to associate with potions projects and quiz nights. With fake cobwebs still dangling over his head, Scorpius made lists a mile long of things needed done by 1 December, ranging from ordinary things like buying flour to Albus learning to play Christmas Carols on the piano - with that last one boiling down to ‘Albus learning to play the piano, period’. 

Albus had hoped that Scorpius’ over-enthusiasm of being away from home for the first time in a non-school setting would blow away soon after the first few mishaps, but he had been wrong. Scorpius had not been daunted by the boils that erupted from his skin when the Christmas tree they cut down themselves turned out to be a poisonous yew, nor by the three days it took them to replace the oven and clean the soot off the walls after the cookie recipe was misread and nearly burnt the whole building down. Thank goodness for Mrs. Next Door and her bloodhound of a nose. 

Matters were made worse when Albus announced that his parents would come for an early Christmas dinner at their new place far earlier than planned. Ginny had to be in Qatar by the 19th of December and what with the boils and the oven, they didn’t even have the new (non-poisonous) tree ready yet. 

“We’re not even half-way through the list and we’ve got to do at least two test runs of all the recipes we’ll serve - don’t roll your eyes at me, Albus, the oven’s new and I’ve never cooked anything other than burnt cookies before!”

“Apart from the countless potions you’ve brewed over the years, that won you a seat in the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, approved by Sir Hector Dagworth himself, as the youngest member ever-”

“The cookies were _burned_!” Scorpius insisted. He pronounced the word ‘burned’ as if it meant ‘shat upon’. Clearly he saw his failure at cooking as a personal offense to his Potioneer skills. 

“Because we didn’t know Americans have a different temp scale and your dad paid for a super-powerful oven that can actually reach 350 degrees Celsius. Now we know better, we’ll-”

“-fuck up some more because we’ll be using all sorts of kitchen gadgets for the first time. We’re so behind schedule, we’re supposed to be knitting our Christmas stockings right now and we haven’t even got the wool yet!”

“It’s fine, the shop’s down the corner, we can get it in literally two minutes- Scor, just take a breath, babe-”

“I will if you bring the wool. We need to make sure it’s the same quality the instructions say it should be.”

Albus wanted to point out that wool is wool and the instructions probably didn’t specify the name of the sheep it came from, but thought better of it and decided it’d be easier if he just went with the flow. 

“Fine, I’ll go right now,” he said, stuffing his wallet in his coat’s pocket. “Need me to grab anything else? Tea? Marshmallows? A Calming Draught?” 

That last one he did not say out loud, only to regret it a moment later. Scorpius grinned maniacally and offered him two pages ripped off of a notebook which contained all the ingredients needed for the dishes they were planning to make in the next three weeks. 

“And don’t buy brands that aren’t the ones it says on the paper,” Scorpius instructed him, as he escorted him to the door, smoothing out Albus’ hair under his bobble hat and pulling his coat lapels forward so they lay flat. “And if they have those silicone spatulas get one, Mum always said to have two of each. Oh and if you can find that gruyère cheese stuffed with blueberries we had the other time, your dad liked it a lot. And-”

“Got it, Scorp,” Albus interrupted him with a kiss on the lips. “Back in a bit.”

“Right… I’ll get started with the tree. And-” Scorpius stopped abruptly for a moment, probably trying to keep the urge to give more directions at bay. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Albus waved from the staircase. 

Out in the cold street that was decorated with fairy lights, surrounded by Muggles doing their Christmas shopping just like him, Albus felt refreshed and optimistic. 

_He’s fine_ , he reasoned with himself. _It’s fine._

As he was about to find out, it was most definitely _not_ fine.

* * *

Albus made it home about an hour later, laden with enough food to feed a small country’s army. He had resorted to magically extending his pockets’ capacities, stuffing them full of bread, chocolate, ham, turkey and the million weird things Scorpius had written down as ‘essential’ to their Christmas dinner, but he was still balancing paper bags overflowing with greens, bread and eggs. 

He sighed with relief as he slid the key to the lock; his back was killing him. The door fell back to reveal what Scorpius had been up to while he had been gone. 

Their living room looked like a cross between the War Room down at the Ministry and a serial killer’s den. All the ornaments they had bought or made in the last weeks were laid upon blankets and table cloths on the floor, arranged first by type (baubles, figurines, gingerbread cookies, cards, etc.), then by colour and finally by size. For reasons Albus could not understand, many had red strings attached to them, connecting them with a specific branch of the Christmas tree, which was now resembling a ghostly marionette master with baubles, Father Christmases and snowy huts for puppets. The tree itself was divided by yet more string, this time white, into diagonal zones. There was not a single ornament decorating it as of yet. 

“Um… Scorp?” Albus called. “Scorpius, are you here? Should I come in?” 

Arms numb with exertion, Albus hopped as gracefully as possible over the strings, expecting to hit the wrong one and send everything crashing down on his head at any moment. He managed to deposit all the groceries and bits and bobs he had bought on the counter and shed the outer layers of his clothing, before performing once more the strange dance over the strings to go to the bedroom. 

Scorpius was sitting cross legged on the stripped bed, their blanket serving as a mattress to the angel figurines. He was bending over a notebook full of scribbles, chewing on the tip of his quill, a nervous habit not even the Malfoys’ strict etiquette lessons had managed to kill, and had not noticed Albus was back. 

“Scorp? Scorp!” 

Albus brandished his hand between Scorpius and the parchment. 

“Oh!” Scorpius blinked at him with confusion, before his brain clicked. “Albus, you’re back! Did you find everything we need? The cookbook says strawberries are hard to find at this time of the year, but if you looked at the-”

“I found everything,” Albus reassured him, sitting on the bed next to him. They were so close, Albus could see that his face was red and puffy, and he had a speck of ink on his nose. “But nevermind that. What’s up in the living room? Did you find the Gingerbread Man murdered and you’re trying to solve the crime?” 

“Don’t be silly, I told you I’d be doing the tree while you’re gone,” Scorpius shrugged vaguely. He must have forgotten he was holding a quill, because the motion was too broad, sending ink droplets everywhere. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he muttered, looking for his wand in a panic. 

“Forget it, my hair’s black, it won’t show,” Albus said, putting his hand on Scorpius’ shaky one. It took him a second to realise that, just like his face, Scorpius’ hand was red and puffy. And quite warm too. 

“Scorpius, are you okay? You look feverish. And what’s up with the serial killer hunt you’ve set up in the living room? I nearly tripped twice trying to get here.”

“We agreed we’d do it the Muggle way this year, didn’t we?” Scorpius shrugged once more, squeezing Albus briefly, before retrieving his hand in order to scratch it with fervour. 

“And um, are you sure that this is how the Muggles decorate their Christmas trees without magic? It looks… dangerous.”

“Well, my thinking was that when you use magic, things arrange themselves by way of least energy expenditure, right? In our case, this would mean that the ornaments would arrange themselves on the branches in the optimal way: no same coloured decorations too close to each other and with each ornament having some room free around it, but not completely separate from the others. So I figured, if I could replicate this on paper before putting things on the tree, it’d be easier than changing spots afterwards. It’s not that hard, Muggle maths’s got an equivalent field called Map Colouring. Basically, there’s speculation that any plane separated into contiguous regions can be coloured by four colours -that’s as many colours we’ve got baubles in- that alternate, without any adjacent regions sharing a colour -see?” he pointed at what looked like colourful circles connected with lines, covering both pages of his notebook. 

“Sooo,” Albus said slowly, trying to keep up with Scorpius’ rambling, “we’re waiting for you to solve one of the major, _unsolved_ mathematical problems in order to continue with our Christmas decorations?”

Scorpius first looked deeply into Albus’ eyes, then down at his writing, and at Albus once more. Something seemed to die out in his pale eyes. He threw the notebook and quill to his side of the bed, his usually pale cheeks burning red. 

“You’re right, I’m being stupid,” he muttered, burying his face in his knees. “But if we just do it by hand, then it might turn out bad - it might-”

“You’re not being stupid,” said Albus firmly. He hesitated for a moment before putting his hand on Scorpius’ shoulder; he knew only too well how sensitive to touch he was. For once, Scorpius didn’t flinch. “Scorpius, you’re the smartest person I know, stupidity is beyond your abilities-”

“Delphi’s the smartest person you know-” 

“Sorry, I meant the smartest person I know who’s not a _sociopath_. Look... is that what it’s all about?”

“What’s all about what?”

Albus wasn’t sure what he meant either. He had worked hard on his own problems after their Time adventure and things had improved significantly both internally and with his relationship with his dad. Scorpius on the other hand continued to struggle. Bouts of depression were followed by extreme anxiety which left him panicked and paralysed by fear with the slightest inconvenience. Albus had hoped that living together away from everyone else would help him get out of his shell and reconcile him with the fact that life offers very little security regardless of whether noseless Dark Lords reproduced, but the stalker-inspired living room begged to differ. 

Before he could even try and express any of this, Scorpius said: “I just don’t want to ruin Christmas.”

“You’re not going to ruin Christmas. My Christmas is already made by you being here.”

A tear rolled down on Scorpius’ smile. 

“You really mean that?” 

Instead of an answer, Albus kissed him. It was a tender sort of kiss, full of empathy and reassurance that things were fine and would remain so no matter what. Scorpius hung onto him as if he was receiving the kiss of life. When they parted, they were both out of breath. 

“I’d rather spend Christmas with you in a cave rather than without you plus the most optimally decorated tree in history,” said Scorpius. 

“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” smiled Albus, and they both started laughing. 

“Seriously though, I think you have a fever,” Albus insisted. Scorpius did no longer look sad, but his cheeks were still flushed. 

“Yeah, about that…” Scorpius sighed. “Turns out I’m allergic to this tree, as well.”

“What?! But it’s not poisonous, we double-checked!”

“I know, it’s got to be one of those random allergy type things... My hands turned the size of dinner plates when I put the first string on the tree. It’s got to do with touching the needles, I think, because the ones at school never bothered me.”

“Shit... “ Albus ran his hand through his hair, messing it up, but then he seemed to have an idea. “That settles it then. You’re off Christmas tree duty, healer’s orders. You go check out the new oven and I’ll do the tree. And we can decorate the rest of the house together.”

“Who’s planning big now?” Scorpius smiled. “We got the largest tree in the market, you’ll still be decorating by the time I’m done with all the food. Or when the oven explodes and we both die.”

“The oven won’t explode, because we won’t get _distracted_ this time, even if my butt looks awesome in this reindeer onesie.” 

Albus pulled out of the last shopping bag a pair of adult onesies, one red with a reindeer centerpiece, the other pale blue with a snowflake print.

“Thought it’d match your eyes,” he said, offering Scorpius the blue one, already stripping himself. 

“You’re joking!”

“About the butt thing? No, never, I don’t joke about important things! But we might get distracted, those things are skin-tight.” 

They were not skin-tight, but they were close fitting. With loads of giggles and blushing from Scorpius, they finally made it to the living room, ready to tackle the Christmas decorations. It took awhile for Albus to disentangle all the red strings, but after that things went smoothly, especially since Scorpius refilled his mug with hot chocolate every few minutes. Full of sugar, with Christmas music in the background intermingled with Scorpius’ cooking sounds, they had a delightful and very productive evening. 

Scorpius was in the middle of preparing beef Wellington, when Albus announced that the tree was only missing the lights. 

“Don’t turn around to look yet - BUT - am I supposed to drape them around the tree first and then plug it in, or should I plug it first and then drape it?” 

“I don’t know,” came Scorpius’ voice from over the pan, where he was searing the meat. “Your grandpa the other day was saying electricity is dangerous. I’d do what I have to do with the cords first and then plug them in, just to be safe.”

“Sounds reasonable. If only you hadn’t been playing with electrical appliances all evening,” laughed Albus. “Okay, so I’ll just throw them on - like this… Maybe pull those up over here, and maybe some over the- _OH-_ ”

There was a small thump that was Albus colliding with the hardwood floor, and for a moment Scorpius thought that the worst had been avoided. After a second of ominous silence, the entire tree came crashing down, baubles and stuffed reindeers flying everywhere. And the top of the tree swiped the entire kitchen counter, spraying Scorpius’ bare feet with broken glass, egg yolks and pine needles. 

“Oh my god, Albus? Albus, are you okay? Speak to me, Al-”

“I’m fine!” Albus’ heavily muffled voice came from somewhere behind the counter. “Just fine. You? Did the tree hit you?”

“No, didn’t reach me at all. But the floor’s both slipperry and sharp now. Hang on-”

Scorpius Summoned his slippers from the bedroom and chose his path carefully over the Christmas vomit that was their adjoining kitchen and living room. Albus was unharmed, but well-trapped behind the massive pine, which was slumped over the counter, as if tired of their over-enthusiasm and kitschy decor. 

“I’ll try pushing it away,” suggested Albus. 

“Won’t make a difference. You’ll still be trapped and the last of the baubles will break too. No- the best thing to do is just magic it back upright…”

“But Scorpius! You said you _wanted_ to do it the Muggle way!”

“And I failed. You tripped on one of my _strings_ , didn’t you?” 

“Did _not_!”

“Yeah, you did, I can see it from here! Albus…” Scorpius sighed, lowering his wand for a moment, “Albus, you don’t have to protect me from my own fuckups, I can take it. Especially since you’re _fine-_ ”

“But _you’re_ not. This morning you were crying because you hadn’t mastered Muggle maths in two hours-”

“Fine, that was dumb of me, but you don’t have to treat me like a child. Otherwise this relationship will never work. Besides, a child can’t do this-”

With a fluent wave of his wand, the tree unstuck itself and stood straight by the window. All the ornaments reassembled themselves and decorated the tree in the _most optimal_ way. The only mess that remained were the broken eggs in the kitchen. Albus laughed at Scorpius, whose eyes were sparkling with pride. He covered the few feet between them in two long strides. 

“Thank Slytherin, because a child should never receive this.”

Albus grabbed Scorpius by the collar of his onesie and gave him a bruising kiss. This time, Scorpius responded enthusiastically, slipping his tongue in Albus’ mouth and biting his lower lip. It was Albus who pulled back first, leaving Scorpius asking for more.

“Have you been stealing batter?” he muttered against Scorpius’ lips. 

“Yeah, not to brag, but it’s delicious. The cake’ll be great.”

“Too bad then.”

“Why? You want burnt cake?”

“No, but my pre-Christmas present to you becomes sort of redundant.”

“You got me a pre-Christmas present?” Scorpius’ eyes opened wide. 

“Well, you said you used to exchange presents with your mum after decorating the tree, so I though- I’m sorry, I didn’t want to -” Albus panicked. The last thing he needed was to make Scorpius sad about his mother not being here. “I can give it to you on Christmas, it’s fine-”

“Actually I got you a pre-Christmas present too,” Scorpius grinned. “Thought we might start the tradition anew. Here.”

He conjured a small, rectangular box and passed it to Albus, who did the same, trying hard not to show how touched he was. Scorpius, shy, private Scorpius who adored his mum, wanted him to be part of their family traditions! 

The boys opened their packages in opposite ways: Albus ripped the paper with fingers and nails, while Scorpius removed every sellotape strip keeping the wrappings together, leaving the snowman-covered paper as good as new.

“Oh!” they exclaimed in sync. 

“You got _me-_ But I got _you-_ ”

They burst out laughing hysterically. They were both holding the same thing, a white mug that wrote:

MY DISASTER GAY

in rainbow letters. 

“Happy Christmas, Scorpius!”

“Happy Christmas, Albus!”

They were leaning in for another kiss, when the distinctive smell of burning meat perforated their nostrils. 

“The steak!” Scorpius cried out, racing to the kitchen and slipping a bit on spilled egg yolks. “Shit - shit- shit-”

“Steak okay?” Albus called. 

“Yeah, if we cut out the burnt parts. The wall’s black again though. Matches the festivities, I guess.”

“Black is festive?”

“Maybe not, but it proves one thing.”

“What?”

“Our presents will never _not_ be relevant!”

Albus laughed loudly and put the kettle to boil, while he cleaned the egg shells. He had been wrong: they _were_ fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and thanks to littlerose13 for the lovely collection of prompts! 
> 
> The maths thing mentioned, the Four Colour theorem, is actually solved and proven, so someone should really gift Scorpius a smartphone for Christmas next year, he'll appreciate this a lot.


End file.
